


Won’t

by languageintostillair



Series: After an Almost [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister Are Not Related, Established Relationship, F/M, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, catelyn only appears for like two seconds btw, i'm serious. i'm seriously serious about the angst this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24571405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/languageintostillair/pseuds/languageintostillair
Summary: What is it that normal people do? How far do they go, and when? Perhaps she and Jaimearemoving slow, glacially slow, by normal standards. But it doesn’t feel like it matters. They’re not normal people, and they don’t follow normal timelines. They haven’t, so far; why should that change now? In any case, there are so many good parts to what they have. Parts that feel safe, warm like the feeling of Jaime’s hand on her belly. Hells, they barely even argue—sure, they disagree, and they bicker, they’ve always done that, but they neverargue. That’s good, isn’t it? They’re doing what feels right. Everything feels right.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: After an Almost [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662541
Comments: 48
Kudos: 90





	Won’t

**Author's Note:**

> I changed the final line of the last part… nine hours after posting it. It rounds out the ending a lot better, just in case anyone would prefer to stop there instead of moving on to this bit, where things go, um, awry.

The story of how they became friends is a boring one, really.

At the time, Brienne had a boring job as a boring assistant in a boring office. She was good at her boring job—very good—but it wasn’t what she’d wanted to do with her life at all. A boring job was still a job, though. Her father had just passed, and she’d bought her two-bedroom apartment with a not-insignificant part of her inheritance, and she just wanted something stable and familiar now that she was all alone in the world.

One day, she’d accompanied her boss to a meeting with Jaime’s company. That was the first time they had been in the same room, a meeting room that was three times the size of any meeting room she’d ever been in. The longer the meeting had dragged on, the more obnoxious Jaime had seemed to her, but she was there to observe, take notes, be invisible. She wasn’t there to have opinions.

It had all been going fine until someone accidentally swept some files off the table, and in that few moments of distraction—during which Jaime hadn’t even batted an eye—she’d wondered if she’d missed some important point. So, she highlighted it in her notes, and asked Jaime for clarification at the end of the meeting.

“I thought I’d mentioned that,” he’d said, assessing her with his cool, obnoxious gaze.

“Yes, but—”

“My assistant can send you our notes for comparison,” he cut her off. Then, he shook hands with her boss, and swiftly departed the room.

Nothing had come of that meeting in the end. Her boss had been disappointed, but Brienne couldn’t help but think to herself that he was better off not working with someone like Jaime. Jaime with his cool, obnoxious gaze. Jaime with his rude, condescending tone. What did it matter that Jaime was golden and beautiful and successful, and worked for a company with meeting rooms three times the size of any meeting room she’d ever been in?

Then, as the universe would have it, she met Jaime at the gym.

The first time she saw him at her regular place, it had been just over three weeks since that meeting. She’d recognised him immediately, and was careful to keep her distance from him, though she had to pretend not to notice when he stared at her a little too long. People always stared at her a little too long, anyway; it probably didn’t mean anything beyond the usual reasons why people stared at her. Besides, she’d never seen him at this gym before. Maybe he was just trying it out. Maybe she wouldn’t see him again after today.

She saw him again a few nights later, kept her distance again, pretended not to notice him staring again. But this time, when she had to walk past him on her way to the changing rooms, he stopped her. “Hey,” he said, “I don’t mean to be rude but—you look familiar. Do I know you?” Brienne was tempted to say _no, you must be mistaken_ , and be on her way, but then he followed with: “Ah. I think we were in the same meeting.”

“Yes. Hi.” And then there was a few seconds of silence, so she said, “If you’ll excuse me—”

He took a half-step into her path. “Have I offended you in some way?”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, without quite meaning her apology, “It’s been a long day.” It was better than telling him, _I don’t want to speak to you because I think you’re obnoxious._

“You’re not mad that we decided not to work with your company, are you?”

The question felt oddly blunt, and oddly _personal_. Business was business, she understood that, and any allegiance she felt towards her boss and his company was strictly professional. “No, of course not,” she frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“People hold grudges,” he shrugged, and his explanation made her freeze, because perhaps she _was_ holding a grudge against Jaime, though not for the reason he’d assumed. “Alright,” he continued. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“I—I’ve never seen you here before this week,” she said, then cursed herself for prolonging a conversation she hadn’t wanted any part of.

Jaime’s expression was indecipherable to her then, though she would realise much later that it had a tinge of sadness, of resentment. She would realise much, much later that this expression probably had something to do with Cersei. “I just… needed a change. I’ll be coming here for a while, I think.”

She nodded. She thought that would be all there was to it—nodding at Jaime if she ever saw him at the gym again. But just as she was about to move past him, he touched her lightly on the wrist. Instinctively, she shook him off, more violently than he probably deserved. She didn’t like people touching her—not that it happened very often—and she sure as all seven hells didn’t like _men_ touching her, even with the most innocent and feather-light of touches.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and she couldn’t detect any obnoxiousness in his tone right then. “I didn’t mean to—I only wanted to ask you for your name.”

“It’s Brienne,” she mumbled, grabbing her wrist where Jaime’s fingers had been, willing the heat away from her cheeks. She didn’t like people touching her. Her body was her own, her weight to carry, and she needed no further reminders that it existed.

“I’m Jaime,” he replied, as he lifted his fingers to his chest, the fingers that had been on her wrist. “This is what normal people do, right? Introduce themselves this way?”

Another oddly blunt, oddly personal question. She’d never thought of herself as normal, but Jaime seemed to imply that he didn’t think he was either. Not in a way that said he was _better_ , or _worth more_ , but simply _not like everyone else_. “I suppose so,” was all she could say.

He gave her a half-smile, repeated a _see-you-around_ , and walked away. And then they _did_ see each other around. And they did do more than just nod at each other all those times. But it was a boring story, really. They’d met briefly through work, met briefly again at the gym, and all those brief meetings had somehow accumulated into a friendship before Brienne even knew what was happening. To think that she’d never wanted to see him again after that first meeting, and a few months later they were coordinating workouts and grabbing coffee and even, on a couple of occasions, went to see a movie. She’d eventually plucked up the courage to tell Jaime that she’d once thought he was obnoxious, and he only laughed and said he probably was. By then, she no longer thought of him as obnoxious. He was just Jaime, and he was her friend, until he wasn’t anymore.

In hindsight, she wonders what would have happened if, at some point in those first few months, she had told him explicitly that she didn’t like to be touched. He did so—not _often_ , but more often than Brienne was used to from another person, which wasn’t very much at all. His fingers on her wrist at their first meeting, and the casual placement of his hand on her arm in the middle of a conversation, or the way he would guide her through the door of a restaurant by the small of her back. All of those touches had been brief, and chaste—there was no intent behind it that she could detect—and she hadn’t wanted to draw attention to it. It would have made intent out of something that had none. Perhaps it was simply how normal people interacted, she’d told herself, and perhaps she and Jaime could have a normal friendship filled with normal, chaste touches. It hadn’t seemed worth mentioning.

But perhaps, if she’d told him, it would have defined their friendship with a clarity she would have appreciated back then. Perhaps she wouldn’t have been confused by all those times he seemed to touch her like he _wanted_ to.

Anyway. It’s all in the past. Now there is no need to question the intent behind Jaime’s touches, even the most innocent ones. They’re not friends any longer. They are _more than_ , and that is what all his touches mean. She wasn’t fully assured of this from the start, and maybe she did wake up every day expecting things to fall apart between them. Until, approximately three months into their relationship—back when her skin still bristled at the word—she received a call from Winterfell.

From Catelyn Stark.

Brienne could only stare at her phone incredulously when the name came up. Catelyn had been her dissertation supervisor, and Brienne had considered her a mentor and confidante of sorts—Catelyn was almost maternal, at times, for which Brienne was appreciative, though never entirely sure how to respond to—but after she’d left Winterfell, she expected them to exchange emails once in a while at most.

As it turns out, it wasn’t just a social call.

“I know you only just left. But I’ve finally jumped through all the hoops to get my research project going, and I could really use someone like you on board.”

“Oh,” Brienne said. It sounded like a great opportunity, and Catelyn’s research _was_ interesting, but she had a decent job in King’s Landing now, something more interesting than all the boring jobs she had before, and—and Jaime.

Maybe she could have quit her job. But Jaime—

“You don’t sound quite as enthusiastic as I’d hoped,” Catelyn said.

“I’m sorry, it’s—it’s silly. I have… I have someone here.” _Gods, how must she have sounded?_

“Oh,” Catelyn replied knowingly. “I see. Someone worth staying in King’s Landing for.”

“Yes,” Brienne confessed, feeling the full weight of this truth. “It’s… still early, but—”

“No. It’s fine. I’m glad you met someone, Brienne. After what you’d mentioned—”

Right. She’d told Catelyn about Jaime once, very vaguely, when she was feeling particularly vulnerable. She’d regretted it after, though. So she didn’t know what possessed her to reveal, “It’s—it’s the same guy.”

“Oh.” This time Catelyn’s _oh_ didn’t sound knowing, so much as… disapproving. “Brienne, I—”

“We’re working things out,” she’d declared in a rush, hoping it would put an end to a subject that she’d brought up in the first place. She has to try not to think about how much _more_ disapproving Catelyn would have sounded if she’d known the rest of it—that Jaime had gotten married and divorced in between.

Catelyn sighed. “Alright. Well, if you change your mind.”

“I’ll call,” Brienne promised. “If I change my mind.”

She didn’t. In fact, that call had only made her more confident that things would work out with Jaime, or at least confident enough that she was willing to take the chance on it. Catelyn had put a choice before her, and she’d made that choice, and she didn’t fret over it for days after like she tends to do. Because things are _good_ , with Jaime. Things are worth staying in King’s Landing for. It had taken time, of course it had, but eventually, they’d slipped so easily back into all the good parts of their friendship, the parts she’d willed herself to forget in those intervening years. And it’s _better_ than all those good parts. She doesn’t have to hide anymore. She doesn’t have to feel confused about how he touches her—there certainly isn’t anything confusing about the way he _kisses_ her—and she’s even learning how to touch him back, in all those small, simple, tender ways she’d never practiced with another person.

Admittedly, it’s been months, and they haven’t gotten much farther than touches and kisses. They’d decided to do what feels right, and going beyond touches and kisses hasn’t felt right to her so far. She tells Jaime she doesn’t feel ready for more, and he accepts it, and that is that. She’ll know when she feels ready, won’t she? She’s already doing so much better than when they’d first started off. She’s stopped flinching when he wraps an arm around her waist, when he nuzzles his nose into her neck. She lets him put his hand beneath her shirt, lets it rest warm on the skin of her belly, lets his finger trace the circumference of her navel. The other day, she’d rested her head on his bare chest for the first time, and he’d been so delighted by it that he made her stay there for much longer than was comfortable for either of them. And they kiss each other, don’t they? Kisses that can be described by any number of adjectives. Gentle kisses, and ardent; clumsy kisses that grow into studied ones; kisses that last less than a second, and kisses that last hours. Brienne cherishes all of them. All of it feels new and wonderful to her, even months after that first kiss that she hardly remembers.

What is it that normal people do? How far do they go, and when? Perhaps she and Jaime _are_ moving slow, glacially slow, by normal standards. But it doesn’t feel like it matters. They’re not normal people, and they don’t follow normal timelines. They haven’t, so far; why should that change now? In any case, there are so many good parts to what they have. Parts that feel safe, warm like the feeling of Jaime’s hand on her belly. Hells, they barely even argue—sure, they disagree, and they bicker, they’ve always done that, but they never _argue_. That’s good, isn’t it? They’re doing what feels right. Everything feels right.

So the third month, becomes the fourth month, becomes the fifth. In that time, she feels less and less uncomfortable about having their arms around each other in public. At her apartment or his, she lets Jaime’s hand travel further up her shirt and further beneath her waistband before she tells him to stop. Even the most ardent of their kisses are more ardent than before, and travel from lips to ears to necks and beyond. There’s progress, and they’re so careful about all of it, about each other; they’re so careful not to hurt each other again. They’ve been doing so good, haven’t they? Maybe she’ll feel ready for more soon. Not yet, but she’s sure she’ll know when she does. How could she not?

“Question,” Jaime says, while they’re watching a movie at her apartment one night. “And you can’t get mad at me for asking this.”

It doesn’t feel like the right time for questions that might make Brienne mad—she’s actually quite focused on this movie, and equally focused on ignoring Jaime’s finger drawing circles dangerously close to her inner thigh—so she only replies with, “Hmm.”

“What date would we consider our six-month anniversary?”

Okay, so she doesn’t get mad at him for asking, but it _really_ doesn’t feel like the right time for _this_ question. Brienne sighs, reaches for the remote to hit pause, then turns to look at him. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing,” Jaime shrugs, in that way he shrugs when he’s trying very hard to appear as nonchalant as possible. “If I don’t know what date to plan it for.”

“No planning. No—anything that requires the amount of planning that you’re thinking of.”

His finger is still tracing circles on her thigh. “You’re just saying that because you don’t know which date to choose.”

“I’m saying it because I don’t want you to—to—to drag us off on some week-long trip to a tropical island without giving me any warning!”

His finger pauses mid-circle. “That’s incredibly specific. Are you sure that isn’t what you want?”

“No!”

“No, you’re not sure, or—”

She swats his hand from her thigh. “Do you consider it your mission in life to aggravate me?”

He grins, because that _is_ his mission in life. “Tell me what date I _shouldn’t_ plan for, then.”

She can only wave her hand, and mumble incoherently.

“Thank you,” he laughs, “that’s really helpful.”

“Gods, Jaime, I don’t know. Just pick one of them.”

He stands up from the couch, and walks towards the kitchen to grab them two more bottles of beer from the fridge. “Let’s see,” he says, spreading his arms with one bottle in each hand. “We have quite a few options. The day you first texted me to ask me for the sweater back. The day we first met again—when you bumped into me outside my office building.”

“Because, as you confessed, you came back early from your meeting so you could _deliberately_ bump into me. Also—” she lifts up her left hand and wiggles her ring finger. That was the day she saw him wearing his ring.

“Oh. Fuck. Yeah, maybe not that.” He opens the beers, and starts walking back towards her. “Then there was the day we had three different arguments—”

“Three?”

“Coffee shop, my car, your apartment.”

“I would consider the coffee shop and your car one continuous argument.”

“Agree to disagree,” he replies, handing over one of the beers, and she rolls her eyes as she takes a sip. “Then there’s the next day. When you said okay. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“You mean when you ambushed me with a kiss—my _first_ kiss—that I essentially have no memory of?”

He winces. “First date?”

“That was a very… _heavy_ … first date.” He’d told her about Cersei. It wasn’t something she liked to remember, even though there were good things that came after.

“Hmm.” He settles back onto the couch, and takes a swig of his beer. “You know, a lot of nice, not-so-heavy things happened in that week before our first date.”

“Are you proposing that our six-month anniversary should be _one week long_?”

“Would you really be opposed to that week-long trip? If I gave you some warning?”

“It’s in—” she checks the date on her phone— “Three weeks. I have _work_ , Jaime. I just started my job a few months ago, I can’t give them three weeks’ notice for a one week vacation.”

“Okay, okay. One year anniversary, then?” he asks, expectantly. His voice is so filled with hope that it makes her blush.

“Maybe,” she replies, softly, staring down into her bottle.

“How about—one weekend. At a hotel. That one with that restaurant you’ve been wanting to try. I’ll book the best room they have available.”

A hotel. The best room in that hotel. That room would have a bed. There are beds at her place and Jaime’s, but there are doors separating those beds from the rest of their apartments. There are no doors in hotel rooms. “Seems extravagant,” she murmurs, still staring into her bottle. It’s not that she and Jaime haven’t shared a bed yet—clothed, with nothing more than touches and kisses—but that wasn’t a hotel room. It wasn’t a _suite_ , knowing Jaime and his spending habits, and on their six-month anniversary. That’s different. That feels like… like a commitment to things that happen in beds, between two people who are in a relationship.

“We’re celebrating, Brienne.” He puts a hand on her thigh again, and it’s cold this time, from when he was holding the beer. “Let me do this for us.”

She closes her eyes, and takes a breath. “Are you… expecting things to happen? In that hotel room?”

“What?” He leans forward, and places his bottle on the coffee table. “I’m not—I just thought it would be something nice for us to do, that’s all. I don’t—I mean, if it happens, I won’t be _opposed_ , but I’m not—”

“I don’t know if I’ll be ready,” she whispers.

“I know that. Fuck.” He sits back again. “I’m not trying to _pressure_ you. I’m just—I thought it would be nice to celebrate. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Will you… let me think about it?”

“Okay.” He exhales. “Yeah, that’s fine. I truly, truly didn’t mean anything—”

“I know. I’m not saying that you did—” They said they’d talk about the things that don’t feel right, didn’t they? So she had to bring it up. But Jaime is being so _apologetic_ , and she’s about to put a hand on _his_ thigh to stop him talking when he says:

“I know this is what I deserve—”

She almost drops her bottle. Did she hear that right?

“What did you say?”

She can feel him stiffen beside her. “No. Sorry. Forget what I said.”

No. Jaime doesn’t get to do that. If she lets this slide, his words will find some corner of her mind to sit, rest, infect. “You think you _deserve_ this?”

“Forget it, Brienne. It was just—it just slipped out.”

She sets her own bottle down on the coffee table, with more strength than was necessary, and turns to face him. “You think I’m punishing you for something. By not… doing this.”

“Let’s just—we don’t have to—it’s _fine_.”

“You don’t say something like _that_ and then decide that it’s fine. I know you’re frustrated with me—”

“I’m not—I’m fine, really—”

“You’re _not_ fine. I know you’re _frustrated_ , but I—I don’t know what else I can do. I don’t _feel ready_.”

Jaime puts his head in his hands and breathes in deep. When he turns his head back to her, there’s something different about him. _Sharp._ He’d been so _soft_ these past few months, so _careful_ , and now the way he’s looking at her:

“Alright. Let’s talk about it, since we’re on the topic.” He’s gripping his hands together now, and his knuckles are already growing white. “I—honestly, I don’t know if you will ever _be_ ready.”

 _What?_ “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

He stands up from the couch, paces to a corner of her living room with his hands on his hips, turns to face her. “I know it’s not easy for you. I appreciate that, I do. But I just—I wonder, sometimes. If you’ll ever be ready.”

That doesn’t explain anything at all. “You told me we should do what feels right. That’s what you said. And this, it doesn’t feel—”

“ _I_ don’t feel right to you?” He takes a few steps towards her. “Is that what you want to say?”

“No—I, no, that’s not what I mean—not _you_ , just—”

“But it’s all mixed up for you, isn’t it? What feels right. What feels safe.” He’s right beside her now, towering over her while she sits on the couch. “The truth is, I don’t feel safe to you. After all this time, you’re still afraid of me.”

The _truth_. He can’t stand there and tell her what the truth is about how _she_ feels. She’s had enough of that from him. “I’m not _afraid_ of you, Jaime,” she says, glaring up at him. “And I’m not _punishing_ you. I don’t think you _deserve_ whatever it is you think I’m doing to you. Is that really what you think of me?”

Jaime takes a deep inhale. “I think you—you put up these walls between us, Brienne.”

“I’m just—”

He holds up a hand. “Wait. Let me finish. I’m not—it’s not my place to tell you whether that’s necessary. What happened between us, it hurt you, and I get that. But sometimes I feel like I’m just standing here, outside your walls, without a clue what I’m supposed to do besides _wait_.” Then, he lets out a bitter laugh. “The thing is, I would. Wait _patiently_. That’s what I do.”

 _Wait patiently? For… for two decades, like he did with her?_ Brienne is digging her fingers into the edge of the couch now. Jaime doesn’t get to use his past against her. He _doesn’t_. “Are you comparing me to her now? Is that what you think I would do to you?”

He takes a step back, as if she’d just struck him. “Seven hells, Brienne—I’m talking about _me_. I’m talking about how stupid I am.”

“You’re talking about how stupid you are that you’d let someone manipulate you like this. You think _I_ would manipulate you like this.”

“That is _not_ what I said.”

“It’s what you believe. Isn’t it?” If he gets to tell her that she’s _afraid_ , and tell her that’s the _truth_ , then she gets to tell him—

“Fucking hells, Brienne. What I’m saying is—what I’m saying is—I don’t want to wait if—”

 _He’s breaking up with me_ , she thinks all of a sudden. It’s illogical—he’d just been asking her how they should celebrate their six-month anniversary—yet somehow it feels like the most logical conclusion to her. But Jaime’s next sentence isn’t _I think we should break up_. His next sentence is:

“I don’t want you to _settle_ for me just because you, you think you won’t find someone else who will love you.”

There’s something caught in her throat. It’s—it’s _everything_. It’s the entirety of the time that has passed since she first encountered Jaime in that meeting room.

“Jaime,” she finally breathes. “Is that what you really think?” She feels like she’s asked that question a hundred times in the last two minutes.

He walks away from her again. “I don’t know. Fuck. No. Sometimes.”

It doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t make any sense because—how could he think that when—

“But,” she whispers, “But you’re the one settling for _me_.”

She hadn’t let herself think it. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, these past months. But it’s there, in her mind. Sitting. Resting. Infecting.

Jaime is staring at her now, she can see him out of the corner of her eye. “I’m the one—you think this is—”

That _everything_ in her throat? It’s gone. There’s a lightness to her now, now that she can admit what she’s been thinking all along. “I know—I know this feels better than Cersei.”

“That’s because it _is_ ,” he pleads. “She’s not—you said you trusted me. But you don’t believe I’m over her? After all this time? After everything?”

It’s not that. It’s not that. She believes him, she _does_ , but—she doesn’t know how else to explain it. “It’s _easier_. I get it. I’m easier.”

_I’m convenient._

_I’m here._

_I’m not a real choice._

“You think this is _easier_?” he growls. “Fuck, it’s been almost half a year and we’re still walking on eggshells around each other.”

He isn’t wrong. They’ve been _careful_ , they’ve been so _careful_ with each other, but there’s a line between that and walking-on-eggshells, and perhaps they crossed that a long time ago, and she hadn’t wanted to see it till this moment. That _everything_ in her throat is gone, and there is something about Jaime’s statement that makes this odd calm wash over her, this odd, threatening calm, as she locks eyes with him and says:

“If this is so difficult for you, you’re welcome to leave.”

Silence. After a few moments, he says, “I’m sorry?”

Then the calm is gone, the _everything_ is back in her throat, and she’s _panicking_ , what has she _done_? “Shit—” she puts her hands to her forehead— “shit, I’m sorry, I don’t know what—”

“No. Don’t be _sorry_. That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to leave?”

“No—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that—”

“ _Don’t lie to yourself._ To _me_. At least do me that courtesy.”

Something in that accusation makes her fly out of her seat. “And what the fuck have you been doing all this time, thinking I was doing this because I thought you deserved it?”

“Maybe—maybe you were doing it because you thought _you_ deserved it.”

“What the _fuck_ does that mean?”

“You’re so damn blind to it, you don’t even _know_ ,” he seethes. He’s pointing a finger at her, stabbing the air with each word. “You don’t even know that you want me to leave just to—to prove to yourself that this won’t work out for you. But I’m not your damn self-fulfilling prophecy, Brienne. You don’t get to use me to prove that you can’t be loved. You _don’t_. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I— _I love you_.”

Her mouth is open, but no sound comes out. Or maybe it does, but—she can’t hear it. She can’t hear anything.

 _I love you_.

She’s not sure how much time passes, with them just standing there, staring at each other.

She sees Jaime’s lips move. “No response to that at all?”

She doesn’t know what to say. What could she possibly say?

“Fine.” He walks towards the door, reaches for his jacket. “You want me to leave? I’ll leave.”

So he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I really turn _“You want her? Go get her.” / So he did._ into that ending? Yeah. I did.
> 
> Thanks to [Roccolinde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde) as usual for being a stellar beta! And thanks to [jencat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencat) for helping me with Jaime and Brienne's back stories (I sure love making their back stories about offices and gyms when I spend very little time in either), and [theworldunseen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworldunseen) for sending me that prompt on [Tumblr](https://shipping-receiving.tumblr.com/) that inspired the phone call with Catelyn.


End file.
